Escape
by DeenaTweety
Summary: O/C in the Capital Wasteland. Kidnapped from Freeside and forced to work off another woman's debt in The Ninth Circle, Fran knows that this may be a mess she can't get out of. But it won't stop her from trying. Possible romance! Rated M to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Okay guys. :) This is my very first time writing for this fandom, and if I'm being totally honest I'm just kind of writing to write and play around with my silly thoughts. So please go easy on me!

This is an O/C, not the Lone Wanderer. This will pretty much go along with the story line, except it's more from the perspective of someone who isn't exactly apart of the story. I don't want to write a super long A/N at the beginning so if you want to know more I'll write a longer one at the end. Please give this a chance and review!

And one last thing! I'm trying to write fics and actually finish them so I have quite a few chapters written already. Just so you know. :)

* * *

**Chapter 1: **

Fran liked to think that she was a smart girl. Not the smartest, she knew, but she always found a way out of trouble.

This time, she wasn't so sure she had a plan.

Yet.

She had to keep her head up, because she knew that getting depressed wouldn't help. She'd already spent six whole months being depressed, but that was before she'd found the secret. The secret that would help her come up with a genius plan to escape.

* * *

Six months ago, Fran had been your average New Vegas citizen. She was originally from Freeside, just another scrappy punk kid who was fighting to survive. She had to scrounge and save, beg, borrow, and steal just to get by, until one fortuitous day she found something. A passport.

It was just lying there on the street. She picked it up and looked around, expecting someone to come running and screaming at her to give it back. But no one ever did, and hell if she was ever going to look for the owner. Those babies went for hundreds of caps.

That day she had been feeling lucky, almost possessed. She knew that it was probably a forgery, and that those robots could sometimes tell. Passport in hand, she marched straight up to the Securitrons, half-expecting them to shoot her down on the spot. Instead, the automated voice greeted her with words that the average Freesider never got to hear: "Welcome to The Strip." And the gates had opened.

Life from there had been just as Frank Sinatra would have put it—beautiful! She had been living the dream, baby-she learned how to deal cards and roll dice with the best of them. She wore pretty dresses and dated eccentric men, and, most importantly, she _made money_. That passport had been her lucky break, and she knew what it meant: New Vegas was calling to her.

So what if her brothers were still slugging it out in the slums? She sent money home. Sometimes.

Sometimes she even visited them (but rarely, because they were _so_ judgmental, and kept pressuring her to come home). In fact, her last visit home had turned into a huge family blow-out and she'd stormed out without saying goodbye. She fumed as she wandered down the empty streets.

She couldn't _stand_ it when they told her she was a snob and that she needed to come back down to earth. She _hated _when they told her that she couldn't keep up her lifestyle. _What do _they _know_, she thought angrily. They were just jealous that she wasn't going to sit at home all day while they pretended to be in a gang and have all the fun.

She had been so angry and infuriated that she hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings. She barely registered footsteps approaching her from behind, and when she'd finally noticed it was too late.

There was a dirty hand reaching over her mouth and muffling her scream, and strong limbs trapping her so she couldn't move. She struggled until she felt the sting of a switchblade against her skin.

"Look what we have here, a little girl walking all alone at night. What's your name, honey?"

She gasped when he took his hand off of her mouth. "Leave me alone, my brothers are in the Kings-!"

She was cut off when his hand clamped back down.

"I didn't fucking ask who your brothers are. Try one more time, baby, and maybe I won't cut you open like a fish."

He didn't talk like a Freesider, and he couldn't be a King, she thought frantically. She felt tears prick at the back of her eyes and a sob form in her throat. He pressed the knife a little harder against her neck. "I'll only ask one more time. What's your name, and tell me the fucking truth."

"Fran," she gasped. "I didn't do nothin', I swear! Please don't hurt me, please…" He let her go, but only to push her roughly to the ground. She scrambled to her feet to make a run for it, but he shoved her right back down, skinning her knees in the process.

"Liar," he grunted, reaching out and snatching her arm. She yelped in pain as he yanked her up. "You're in big trouble, Doris," the man growled into her ear. "You're in debt, and I'm here to collect."

"Doris? I'm not Doris!" she said frantically, trying to shake herself free from his grasp. "I don't even know Doris, I swear, I swear!"

He shook her a little and she stopped struggling. "Nice try, honey. Now let's get moving."

Fran just knew that she could solve this. It really was just a case of mistaken identity. "Please, mister," she said, shakily smiling her most charming smile, trying to relax in his unrelenting grip. "I swear I ain't Doris. It's dark out, I can see how it might be hard to see but my name is Fran and I'm from here and my brothers—"

"If you can't keep your trap shut," he replied, "I'll shut it for you." He tapped the side of his knife on her cheek before tying her hands up in a tight rope and shoving a sack over her head.

* * *

That was how she eventually found herself in the Underworld, surrounded by ghouls (a group of people that she didn't really care for) and working off another woman's debt. A debt that would probably never be paid off. Ahzrukhal, the ghoul that had originally been after "Doris", didn't seem to mind one bit that he had the wrong girl.

Every evening she served drinks and sold chems in The Ninth Circle, and at night she entertained whoever Ahzrukhal told her to. Rarely did she see any other humans.

She usually drifted off to sleep at around 3am, after the last customer was gone. But this morning, as exhausted as she was, she just couldn't sleep. She lay on her thin little mattress, staring up at the ceiling, wondering when she'd gotten so used to strange ghouls in her bed that it was hardly even disgusting anymore. She even had a couple of regulars and that was _comforting_, somehow. And that in itself was just screwed up.

She sniffled and tried to cry, but found that she couldn't. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to get some tears out but she had no success.

She sat up, a sort of fear rising. She was so tired that she felt delirious, but she couldn't give into sleep just yet. She blinked and sniffled, but nothing was happening. She was beginning to panic. A wild thought flashed through her mind—what if she wasn't alive anymore? What if she was just like those ghouls, except on the inside? What if she was dead?

The fact that her heart was pounding in her ears did nothing to ease her fear. She couldn't hear her own ragged breathing as she scrambled around the room in search for something, anything, to prove that she was alive. Maybe someone had left some alcohol or some sort of chem in her room…

And that was when she spotted _It_.

_It_ was just a floorboard. But it was different from the rest. It was slightly raised, and as soon as she saw it, she knew that her luck had just turned around. She carefully and quietly pried the floorboard up to get a good look at what was underneath, and what she saw stopped her in her tracks. She could have sworn that her heart stopped for a whole minute.

Underneath the floorboard, someone (probably the prostitute that had lived here before her) had stashed caps, a knife, and a straight razor.

Fran knew what this meant. Lady Luck had turned her eye toward her again. She was getting another chance. She could use these caps to escape, and somehow find a way home. Home to Freeside, home to her brothers, home to New Vegas.

"Home," she breathed, "Home home home."

She counted the caps. There weren't a lot but she knew that if she applied herself, she could figure out a way. She always did. She would find more money and blow this joint, she would go home and see her brothers and they would forgive her and they could start over.

Smiling for what felt like the first time in ages, she replaced the floorboard and sat back down on her mattress. Tomorrow was a new day.

* * *

For the next few days, Fran made an effort to act normal. She smiled as she served drinks, made small talk as she wiped the counters. She found herself feeling calm and peaceful for the first time in a long time. She hadn't even felt this happy when she was living on the strip. Because now, she had purpose.

"Here's a little tip, honey," a gravelly voice said. It was one of the regulars, Lars. Fran smiled and threw the caps in her pocket. She'd have to give them to Ahzrukhal at the end of the night, but it was a nice thought.

"Thanks, Lars," she said with a grin. "You were always my favorite. Are you gonna stay the night?" Lars gave a nervous chuckle.

"Not tonight. Naw, don't act too disappointed." Fran shrugged her shoulders and took his empty glass.

"Maybe tomorrow," she simply said.

The shift was over and she had just a little while before she had to start entertaining. The bar was mostly empty, except for Ahzrukhal who was counting her tip money in the back, and his lackey Charon who was sulking in the corner. As usual.

Fran was swishing glasses around in the dirty water in the sink. She knew she was probably just making them dirtier, but she was past caring. She had other things on her mind.

In the middle of drying a glass, she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise up. She turned around slowly to see that Charon had moved from his position in the corner to stand near the bar. Close to where she was.

It took a second for her to speak. "Can I help you, Charon?" she asked, the words coming out quieter than she wanted them to.

The huge bouncer didn't reply. He just narrowed his milky eyes and stared at her. She narrowed her eyes back.

"What do ya want?" she said, her voice finally doing what she wanted it to. She didn't want stupid Charon to think she was scared of him.

The ghoul sat down on one of the bar stools and she almost thought that he was going to order something. She grabbed one of the cleaner glasses and was about to ask him what he wanted when he spoke.

"I saw what you did there, smoothskin," he said. Fran froze in her spot.

"I didn't do nothin'," she said slowly, setting the glass down in front of him. Before she could get away, he reached out and grasped her wrist. She tried to pull away but with a firm hand he drew her closer. With the other hand, he reached into the pocket of her ratty apron and pulled out two caps.

"Give those back," she whispered, her heart pounding. If Ahzrukhal found out she was holding out on him… Charon let go of her wrist but didn't give back her extra caps.

"I'm doing you a favor, smoothskin," he replied. "You don't want to get caught with those."

"But they're mine," she said quietly, reaching for the hand that had taken her money. "I earned them."

"What're _you_ gonna do with caps?" he replied. "You don't need money, because you're always here. Unless you're planning something." She felt the blood drain from her face.

"Then keep 'em," she said with a sneer. "Just thought I could buy some booze, that's all." Charon snorted.

"Don't try to steal from Ahzrukhal again," he warned, and then stalked off. Fran let out a breath when he was finally out of sight. That was the longest conversation she'd ever had with him. Charon was the ghoul she hated the most, because he should have been her friend. She reasoned that since they were both "employed" by the same man, they should stick together.

Not only did Charon ignore her, but now it seemed that he also kept an untrusting eye on her. It was a good thing that he didn't know about all of the other caps she'd pocketed, but now she had to be much more careful.

* * *

**A/N:**

Okay! What did you guys think? I'm a little nervous about publishing this because it's not really about the LW, and it's not super action-y yet. The main character is sort of this illiterate, rude girl but my goal is to kind of play with this character and make her grow (into a better or worse person? Who knows?).

Also, in case anyone is wondering (I know that I always think about this when I'm reading fics) I imagine this O/C to look like Jena Malone when she plays Nancy in the mini-series "The Hatfields and the Mccoys." Has anyone seen that? It's awful. They just kept doing bad stuff to each other. You just want to go back in time and smack some sense into everyone. ANYWAY, Nancy just has this mean look I really like. And she goes kinda crazy, which was just awesome.

I don't really know if there are going to be any pairings or not. I'm really playing with some ideas in my brain, but I'd REALLY like to know what other people think. So please review! Tell me what you'd like to see happen. Tell me any wild or crazy idea. If you have a thought about where you'd like to see this go, message me!

I humbly offer this story for your reading pleasure and I genuinely hope you like it!

-Deena


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

When Fran heard that Ahzrukhal was getting another prostitute, she was both relieved and excited. Finally, there would be someone else, someone new to talk to. And maybe having another girl around would let her get a little break. It was hard to work at the bar in the evenings and then spend all night up, only getting sleep in the morning and afternoon. She'd been a little disappointed when she'd found out the new girl was a ghoul, but it wasn't important.

Her name was Betty and she was actually pretty (for a shuffler. Fran wouldn't ever say it to her face, though). She's been a slave for a long time, much longer than Fran had, but they still got along from the moment they met. She helped her adjust to life in Underworld, became her friend. After just a few weeks, Fran could say that Betty was her _best_ friend.

It seemed that Betty was pretty popular, too, which was perplexing to Fran. Why would men choose a ghoul over a perfectly smooth, pretty human? She'd heard some bar-goers talking about ghoulettes they'd found attractive, but Fran had never taken it seriously (especially when those same people could be found in her room after-hours).

She often found herself working more in the bar than she did in her bed, which didn't bother her. If she was making less money, it didn't matter much because Ahzrukhal was never going to let her out of her contract, anyhow.

As she wiped down some glasses with a filthy rag, Lars was talking her up. She was hardly listening, just nodding and "mmhmm-ing".

"Seems like Ahzrukhal has been getting more and more business since hiring you and Betty, don'tcha think?"

"Mmhmm."

"She's not so bad-looking, Betty. One of the prettier ghoulettes." Fran looked up and leaned her chin on her hand.

"Is that where you've been, Lars?" she asked with a teasing smile. His eyebrow muscles went up and he laughed nervously.

"Can't blame a guy, can ya?"

"Not at all," she replied before continuing to wipe the bar. "Can I expect to see you tonight?" Lars licked his ruined lips and glanced at Betty, who was walking toward the corner where Charon was.

"Maybe another night," he said when he looked back at her. He gave her a smile and got up to leave.

She didn't expect be somewhat jealous of Betty, but she figured that it was common when girls became friends. And anyway, she was so nice and she was her only friend. How could she hold any ill will toward her?

She looked around to spot Betty and frowned when she saw her. She was talking to Charon, of all people. And Charon didn't look completely miserable. Well, he didn't look happy, either, but he never did. He was actually tolerating Betty's presence, and it irked her. She and Betty were in the same position for all intents and purposes, and Fran had been around longer. But the ghouls around her seemed to be much more charmed by one of their own kind.

She huffed and picked a scrap up off the bar. It really wasn't a big deal. She still got plenty of business and she was gonna get out of here the moment she had enough caps.

* * *

It was getting late and the bar was empty again. Betty was already working in her room but Fran had time, so she hung around in the bar and wiped the tables—something that she found herself doing almost constantly.

Charon was sitting at the bar drinking some dirty, irradiated water, like he usually did at the end of the night. Fran sighed and tapped her nails on the bar. It seemed as if she'd done all the cleaning there was to do. She looked to the huge ghoul sitting across from her. He gave her the usual indifferent look and kept nursing his water.

"So, Charon," she said. He turned to her again, replicating his previous look. When it was clear that he wasn't going to answer, she sighed and turned away. So, he would talk to Betty and not her. "Do you hate smoothskins?" She knew that it was probably not a wise question to ask the bodyguard, but she couldn't stop herself.

But she did get a reaction. He tightened his hand around his glass, and after a moment shrugged.

"I only ask 'cause you never come see me," she said, leaning over the counter and studying him.

"I wouldn't come visit you, even if you _were_ a ghoul, smoothskin."

She didn't know if he meant that he didn't do prostitutes, or if he just hated her personally. She decided that she didn't want to ask. She was pretty sure she knew the answer, but she didn't want it confirmed. "Thanks," she said with a scoff. She looked up to see Ahzrukhal walking into the bar and giving her a sleazy smile. Charon stood up.

"Looks like you're not very busy, Franny," he said.

"Not yet," she replied.

"Why don't you get us a drink and bring it to my room?" She smiled and grabbed the nearest bottle of booze.

"Sure thing."

Ahzrukhal waved for Charon to sit down. "You stay here. I'll be out in a little bit." Charon sat back down and gave Fran a look as she walked to their employer. She ignored him and took Ahzrukhal's arm. She didn't care about Charon or what he thought of her. She had a job to do, and he had a job to do. And one of these days she was gonna vamoose right outta here.

And maybe she'd kill Ahzrukhal while she was at it.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, super short chapter. I was going to wait to post this but I realized that was soooo short, and it's kind of a lead-up to the exciting next chapter! Things are going to heat up, people!

I'll be posting chapter 3 soon, like maybe tomorrow or the next day? I just wanna polish it up. :)

Thank you for reading! Pleeeeaaaase review. I'm kind of trying to figure out how to further develop this love/hate (or hate/hate) relationship between Charon and Fran, and I'm trying to figure out what situation would be appropriate for a pairing? Or is it just hopeless? I usually like doing pairings, and I have what I feel are pretty decent ideas, but I don't know. I just want it to feel organic and natural, ya know? I guess we will see what happens. :)

-Deena


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N****:** Haha I'm not sure if anyone is reading this! But here we go with the next chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

After a long, discouraging night, Fran counted the caps under her floorboard. She realized that she had a significant amount, but not enough yet to make it all the way to the Mojave. How was she going to pull off this escape?

She had a half-put together plan. She was pretty sure that she could hire someone—maybe a trader—to let her tag along on a trade route or something. How many caps would that take? There were a few bar-goers who stopped in to take a break from their travels, so she knew that there was a chance that one of them would take her along for the right price.

As she quietly put her caps back under the floorboard, she thought of Betty, her only friend. If she left, that would mean that the ghoul would be stranded here all alone, with no real friends. Sure, she was among her own kind, but she was still a slave, and Fran didn't want to leave her.

Fran sat on her bed and thought hard. If she could get Betty to start contributing caps, too, they'd be able to make more money and leave sooner. All she needed to do was convince Betty to run with her to New Vegas, and really, who needed convincing? Vegas could speak for herself.

Fran jumped up and snuck out of her room, walking as quietly as she could to the ghoulette's quarters. She put an ear to the door, hearing nothing. She tapped quietly.

Betty came to the door, rubbing her eyes. "What's going on?" she asked in her gravelly voice.

Fran slipped into the room and shut the door. "I have to tell you something," she whispered.

"What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"I trust you, Betty. You can't say nothin' to anyone."

"I'm starting to get worried."

Fran smiled so big that her cheeks hurt. "I'm gonna get us outta here. I gotta secret."

That night, Fran spilled every secret she had. She told her about the caps under the floorboard, her plan to get out of The Ninth Circle, out of Underworld. She told her about how she had some ideas about who to pay for a way out. And then she told her that she wanted her to come.

"I wanna get out of here too," the other woman whispered. "What do we need to do? Which floorboard are the caps under?"

"You can barely even tell it's different. I moved the dresser over it so one of the legs is right on top of it. I've been taking just a coupl'a caps at a time but it's adding up fast, baby," Fran said with a smirk. "Ahzrukhal hasn't even noticed, friggin' schmuck. I got over five-hundred caps. It took a long time but if you start pitching in we can make enough to blow this joint."

"I don't know, it's risky…"

"Come on, Betty. I know you hate this place as much as I do. Come to New Vegas with me. It's top shelf over there, I even had a little hotel room they let me stay in for real cheap. We can be roommates," she grabbed Betty's ruined hand, almost ready to beg. "We can even stay in Freeside if you want. You have to meet my brothers. They're in the Kings—one of the gangs down there—no one would mess with us and…"

"Okay, kid, calm down," Betty said with a quiet laugh. "I'll go with you, I'll help out. I don't have any caps to pitch in yet, though."

"Fair enough," Fran said, her heart soaring. She let the hope that was growing within her to blossom and she pulled her best friend to her in a hug. "Thank you, Bets. I'm so glad you're coming!"

* * *

The next day, her cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. She was laughing and flirting with the regulars a little more than usual, hopeful for a little extra business.

The end of the day came and the bar was finally empty. Even Charon, who usually took a seat after everyone had gone, had disappeared. She wondered if he was running another errand for Ahzrukhal.

She heard footsteps and turned to see the ghoul she'd just been thinking of. His face was set in a grave expression.

"I thought you were out doing something for Ahzrukhal," she said. He seemed to tense up when she spoke. She scoffed, wondering why she even tried talking to him when he obviously didn't like her. "Never mind," she said with an eye-roll.

Instead of stalking off like he usually did, he stepped closer. "You need to come with me," he said. She felt her stomach drop.

"Why?"

"You have to come with me." This only added to her anxiety. She left the bar and followed him, tracing the familiar path down the hallway toward her room. Her door was open and she saw that there was someone already in there.

She froze and Charon had to gently grip her arm and lead her forward. She tried to jerk out of his grip, wondering if she could still make a run for it, but he held fast onto her. She would have seen that the expression on his face was almost regretful, if she had been able to focus on anything else but the dread in the pit of her stomach.

In her room stood Ahzrukhal, just as she had suspected. Her dresser had been moved and her floorboard had been pulled up from the ground. She could see no trace of the caps that she had so carefully collected, and she knew that Ahzrukhal had probably already taken them away.

"Quite a bit of money you had in here, Franny," his voice sounded even deeper than usual. All Fran could feel was the blood draining from her head and Charon's grip on her arm. She said nothing.

"You must think you're clever, keeping that hidden for so long."

"I wasn't hiding it," her voice finally came out in a little squeak. "It was already there when I came here…"

Before she could finish, Ahzrukhal's balled fist made contact with her cheek, forcing her to lose her balance and fall backwards onto her rear-end. All she could think was that she had never seen him move so fast the whole time she had known him.

Charon nearly flinched at the sound she made when she hit the ground. She began to get up, but not before her employer took another swipe near her eye. She yelped again and sprawled back down on the ground.

"It was here before I came here, I swear! I just found it and I didn't know—"

"I don't believe you." he growled. "You took almost four-hundred God-damn caps from me. I would fire you if I could afford to. In fact, I would do more than fire you. Instead, you'll have Charon watching your every move, and the next time you steal from me… he'll be the one handling this."

With that, the ghouls were gone from her room and she was alone.

* * *

She was stupid for even trying. That's what Charon thought.

It was the next afternoon, which should have been plenty of time for her to get it together. He didn't feel the least bit sorry for her, even when she sat behind the bar looking pathetic with her black eye and swollen cheek, with her barely-done hair. It was like she'd woken up and gone straight to the bar without getting ready, which was unusual for a prissy little smoothskin like her.

Even so, he found himself at the bar at the end of the night, drinking water and watching her wipe out glasses with a dirty rag. She gave him a hard look, eyes looking black and angry from underneath her dark hair.

She probably didn't know that she could have gotten it much worse. The only reason Ahzrukhal didn't have him take care of the problem was because he liked her too much. As strange as it was, Ahzrukhal had an affinity for Fran, or that's at least what Charon suspected. Their employer actually _liked_ her, for whatever reason, and had plans to keep her around.

"What do you need, Charon?" His name sounded hateful on her tongue. He didn't answer. "Have you been in my room today? Gone through my things?" He didn't reply. She knew the answers to her questions. "You know, I've been wondering something."

"What do you want, smoothskin?" he said. He didn't want to deal with her anymore, and the sooner she stopped talking the sooner he could have some peace. He already had enough to deal with without her stealing and running her mouth.

"Ahzrukhal said I stole four-hundred caps. I wonder what happened to the other hundred?" Now this got his attention. Milky eyes finally focused on her face, but she turned away and acted like she hadn't just said anything concerning.

There was more money? What had happened to the rest of the stolen caps? "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked lowly, not wanting Ahzrukhal to hear. If he could avoid someone else getting wrapped up in this mess, he would. He didn't like the idea of being the one to punish Fran if she screwed up again, as indifferent as he was to her.

Fran didn't answer him. She had a strange smile on her face, the expression of someone who knew something that no one else did. He wanted to grab her and shake her until she spilled her secret but he had a feeling that it would only make her more determined to keep her mouth shut. He wondered why she would even mention anything in the first place if she wasn't going to rat anyone out.

She was probably just going crazy. That's what the Wasteland did to people.

"Are you holding out more caps? Got another hiding place?" he asked with narrowed eyes. The look on her face told him that she didn't. She slammed the glass she was fiddling with on the counter and leaned closer toward him and whispered.

"Who ratted me out? How did Ahzrukhal find out about my money?"

He was tempted to remind her that she'd never _had_ any money, but he held his tongue.

He didn't know who had tipped Ahzrukhal off, all he knew was that his boss had come to him yesterday and told him to look in Fran's room for the loose floorboard under her dresser. But whoever else had known about the caps had stolen a huge chunk of them before selling Fran out.

There were footsteps at the entrance of the bar and they both looked up. It was only Lars, the lonely ghoul who was always chatting Fran up during the day hours.

"Oh, Lars," she said, her smile warm and her voice welcoming. She looked away from Charon as if there was nothing wrong. "It's so nice to see you here. How are you doing?"

He shifted his feet and looked from her to Charon, and then back at her. "I'm fine, just, uh, wondering what you were doing tonight?" Charon stood up and left the bar. He had better things to do than listen to her fake sweetness and veiled propositions. He'd find out on his own who had the rest of Ahzrukhal's money—not because he cared, but because he was obligated to.

Fran would do her job, and he would do his.

* * *

Fran rested next to a sleeping Lars in her bed. Just two nights ago, she would have been going through his pockets before waking him up to kick him out, but she was done. There would be no more stealing. There just wasn't any point anymore.

She rolled over to stare at the uplifted floorboard. She hadn't bothered fixing it, because that also seemed pointless. Between her destroyed floor and her throbbing face, she knew that there would be no escape.

She figured that she may as well give up and try to live some sort of life here. She would work and work, and maybe when she was old and ugly no one would want her anymore. The idea of being old really appealed to her now in a way that it never had before. If she were old, she could just work at the bar all day. She would never have to worry about the other half of her job and the real reason she existed there.

She hated to think about it, but the simple truth was that she was a prostitute. A worthless whore. Her chest tightened and tears welled up in her eyes. There was no denying it or painting over it with pretty words, not when there was someone lying in her bed next to her. She could act like it was no big deal until the Brahmin came home, but the truth would always be staring her in the face.

Hopelessness enveloped her and she sniffled quietly. She would never get to see her brothers again. She'd never get to make fun of their leather jackets or their silly hairdos. She'd never get to apologize for the last fight they'd had. She'd never see Freeside again.

And then there was the matter of Betty.

She knew that Betty had betrayed her, but she didn't know why. Why would another woman do that to her? How could a slave hurt another slave? Did she get something special for selling her out? Fran wondered what she would find if she went through Betty's pockets right now. She was certain that she'd find at least a hundred caps.

Her despair turned suddenly into anger. A type of anger that almost scared her, but it felt _so _much better than being sad. Her tears dried and she found herself sitting up, eyes scanning the room, looking for something without knowing what.

Quietly, she stood up and crept to the damaged floorboard. She looked inside, finding nothing. Still crouched on the ground, she peered under her dresser and discovered what she was looking for.

It wasn't hard to fish the knife out from the cramped space. She held it delicately and looked over to Lars to make sure he was still fast asleep. The knife was not in great shape, and it was only supposed to be for use in the kitchen, but it was good enough. Quietly, she stood up and crept out the door, taking care to shut the door without a sound.

Like a ghost, she glided down the dark hallway, stopping when she reached Betty's room. She put her ear to the door to make sure that no one was in, and then turned the knob just so it wouldn't make a noise.

Betty was lying in bed, fast asleep. When Fran saw her, the hairs on her arms and neck rose and her hands tingled. She felt a confidence that she had never felt—maybe this was how Charon felt when he was about to kill someone? She crept to the queen-sized bed.

Her betrayer was lying on her stomach, snoring softly. Fran crawled onto the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping ghoul. It was so perfect, Fran thought, her blood pounding in her ears. _So easy_.

When the knife plunged into Betty's back, she made a horrible noise. With a clumsy but quick hand, Fran covered her mouth and pushed the knife deeper, leaning as much weight as she could onto the other woman to keep her still.

It took more time than she thought it would. There was blood everywhere but there wasn't enough. Betty was trying to scream and thrash, and by now Fran had her knee dug into her back, twisting and pushing the knife as deep as she could. Finally, she twisted her body so that she could reach the ghoul's mouth and nose and to cover them and stop her from breathing.

Betty struggled a little more and Fran lost her grasp a few times, but she finally was able to hold tight until she felt the body underneath her slump and relax into a sickening deadweight. She jumped off of the bed to look at what she'd done.

Betty was limp and bloody. The knife stuck out of her back, reminding Fran of the symbolic murders that always took place in those old mob-movie holotapes.

She herself was covered in blood, so she went over to the sink in the small bathroom attached to the room. As quickly as she could, she scrubbed some of the blood off. She rooted through Betty's dresser and found a clean outfit.

When she went back out into the hallway, it was empty. Betty's struggle hadn't awakened anyone. As quietly as she could, she rushed back into her room, where Lars still slept. She slipped back into bed with him.

She had never killed anyone before, and it wasn't at all how she'd expected it to be.

She expected to feel guilty. She felt nothing.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, guys. I'm gonna level with you. I've never written anything like this before. Should I change it to M? Is it a little too violent for a T rating? Ohhhh geez. I don't know what I'm doing here, haha.

So what did you think? I'd love some feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

She woke up at around 6 in the morning because she couldn't move. She opened her eyes to see Lars, who had an arm draped over her, and she sighed. She should have kicked him out hours ago. She rolled over and shook him a little.

"Lars, wake up," she whispered, her voice hoarse. He moved his arm off of her and sat up.

"What time is it?"

"Six in the morning," she said. "Sorry. I didn't know if I should wake you up or not."

He swore and started to put on his shoes. "Sorry, Fran. Now I'm gonna have to pay Ahzrukhal extra for staying all night." She smiled.

"If you can sneak out without running into him, I won't tell him you stayed the night."

He grinned and patted her knee. "Thanks Franny. You're a nice girl." He had his clothes on and was gone before she knew it, leaving her alone in the dimly lit room. She sat for a moment, feeling drowsy and sad. She needed to fall back asleep so she could work in the evening, but she couldn't stop staring at her shaky hands.

She started to wake up a little more. Why in the world were her hands shaking? The odd feeling moved from her hands, to her arms, and then to her whole body, until even her teeth were chattering.

She remembered it like it was a dream—going into Betty's room and shoving a kitchen knife into her back. She remembered how it hadn't worked right away and how she'd had to cover her mouth and pinch her nose shut until her body slumped and _oh my god I killed her. I killed my only friend—_

She rolled back into her bed and pulled a thin sheet over her head. What had she done? She felt tears on her face, and for a moment she felt as though she could no longer breathe. She was a murderer and there was no way that she wouldn't get caught.

Ahzrukhal would find out, and tell Charon to kill her. She was terrified, she realized, at the prospect of dying, let alone the idea of Charon being the one to kill her.

There was a knock at her door, and she wiped her tears on her dirty sheet. "Just a minute," she said shakily, hoping that the unevenness of her voice could be interpreted as drowsiness.

She jumped out of bed, fully awake now. She looked in her mirror to see that she was still wearing Betty's dress. She changed out of it as quickly as she could into some dirty pre-war casual wear and tucked the stolen garment into her dresser. She never wanted to look at it again.

Her door opened and she looked up to see Charon. He looked at her for a moment and frowned. "You're up," he said. Fran sniffed and shrugged her shoulders, trying to appear calm.

"It's noisy in the bar. Thought I'd see what was goin' on."

He frowned a little deeper and stepped into her room before shutting the door. Fran could feel the shakes coming back as he stepped closer to her. She leaned back into her dresser for support, her mind racing. _He knows, he knows, he knows…_

"Something happened to Betty last night," he said, his eyes milky eyes narrowed right at her. He suddenly seemed much taller (than he already seemed), and his shoulders looked more broad than usual.

Maybe she hadn't taken him seriously enough. Maybe she hadn't been as afraid of him as she should have been. He was huge, at least a foot taller than her, and he had probably killed more people than anyone she knew, combined.

"What? Is she okay?" Her voice came out weak and she felt like her knees were going to give out. It seemed like he was silent for a long time before replying.

"… Just come out to the bar and talk to Ahzrukhal." And with that he was gone. She slumped to the floor. Charon hadn't killed her yet, so maybe there was a chance that no one knew.

* * *

Charon could tell by just looking at her that she had been the one to do it, but no one was asking his opinion. Fran was out in the bar now, casting terrified glances between him and Ahzrukhal.

"What happened?" she asked, wrapping her arms around herself. She looked like hell, he thought, and he knew it wasn't just because she hadn't gotten any sleep.

Ahzrukhal answered her. "You tell us, Franny," he said. "Looks like someone really wanted to hurt Betty."

"Betty? Is she okay?" she asked, her big eyes growing wide.

"Why don't you go see for yourself?" he replied, gesturing toward the hallway that led toward their rooms. Fran looked uncertain, and Charon wondered what she was thinking. Would she pull off the lie? Would she cave in and confess? Either way, he knew how it would end.

It was Betty who had betrayed her, and he only realized it now that she was dead. He had been surprised that Fran had what it took. Even though it was sloppy, and obvious that she had been the one to do it, it added a nice, unexpected dimension to the smoothskin.

When she peered into Betty's room, she looked truly surprised. She looked revolted enough to maybe make him wonder if she really hadn't killed Betty, but he wasn't convinced.

"Don't act so shocked, Franny," Ahzrukhal said. "This doesn't look familiar to you?"

"No! What are you saying?" she asked, tears starting to fill her eyes. "I didn't do this, I swear."

"Betty and I had a little conversation about you before I found all your stolen money, did you know that?"

So, it was true. Betty had been the one to sell out Fran and the smoothskin had gotten her revenge. Charon wondered why she hadn't waited for a while so that there wouldn't be any suspicion, but he didn't know if Fran was smart enough to plan something like that. Either she was stupid, or she hadn't been able to stop herself. He truly didn't know.

"No, I… Ahzrukhal, I swear I didn't… I wouldn't ever hurt Betty, she was my best friend and she…"

"I don't know why anyone else would want to do something like this, do you?"

"No!" Now big tears were rolling out of her eyes and down her cheeks. Charon felt a sort of trepidation about what would happen next—he would have to take her out and kill her, but deep down he really didn't think she deserved it. But then again, no one was asking his opinion.

They all stopped and looked when the sound of someone clearing their throat came from the bar.

"Uh, excuse me, Ahzrukhal?" It was Lars, who was peaking his head around the corner, unable to see into Betty's room but able to see the three in the hallway.

"Not a good time," the bar owner growled. "Come back later."

"Well, I just had some money for you…"

This got Ahzrukhal's attention. "Go on."

"Well, I took up all of Fran's time last night. Longer than I paid for, actually."

All was quiet for a moment. Ahzrukhal looked at Fran for a long moment before saying, "All night?"

"Yeah," Lars said with an embarrassed cough. "I only just left a few minutes ago. I was with her all night." He pulled out a few caps and handed them to Ahzrukhal, who quickly tucked them into the pocket of his jacket.

"This changes things," he muttered under his breath, looking at Charon. "Thank you, Lars, for your honesty. You're a good ghoul, you know that? But let's talk about your bar tab…" He led Lars away from the hallway and back into the bar, leaving Charon and Fran all alone.

She leaned back against the wall for a moment to catch her balance. She didn't care that Charon was staring at her; she was pretty sure he knew everything anyway. She glanced at him and frowned.

"What do you want?"

"All night with Lars?" he asked. Her frown turned into a glare.

"It's not as if I have a choice, do I?" she spat. He just left her alone.

* * *

She spent the rest of the day like she normally did. She'd worked at the bar and talked to customers who asked about Betty, and she'd told them exactly what Ahzrukhal had told her to: that someone had bought her contract. Everyone had been sad to hear that she'd gone—Fran simply nodded and kept serving drinks.

Only a few people, herself included, knew that Ahzrukhal was trying to figure out who'd killed Betty without causing a stir. He believed Lars that she had been with him all night. She was still nervous. She'd gotten off the hook too easily and she didn't understand why.

The day ended as it always did, with her behind the bar, Ahzrukhal in the back counting cash, and Charon sitting at the bar and drinking water. Fran had no desire to talk to or tease him tonight, and she didn't suspect that she ever would again. She felt sick at the idea of talking to anyone at all, and she was too deep in her own thoughts to even try.

She finished cleaning up and took off her apron and shoved it under the bar. "Gonna turn in early," she said. Charon said nothing as she left the bar to go to her room.

* * *

She had extra time tonight, so she tried to catch a little bit of sleep before she started her night work. She shut her eyes and tried to rest, but her thoughts were racing.

It seemed that she had an alibi with Lars, which was not something she had been thinking about when she'd let him stay all night. And Ahzrukhal had believed it.

She rolled flat onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. How could she sleep now that she'd seen her crime in the daylight? It was awful. There had been blood everywhere. Last night she hadn't felt the weight of what she had been doing, but now, she felt as if she couldn't breathe.

She'd gotten away with it, but she hadn't planned to. She certainly hadn't been expecting Lars to cover for her. Sure, she'd _wanted_ to get away with it… didn't she? She sniffed and wiped her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Why had Betty sold her out? Why hadn't she just taken the opportunity that she had been given instead of telling Ahzrukhal about her plans? Was it so she could steal her money? Was it for a few extra dresses? Fran would never know, because she'd killed her. She should have just asked her why rather than stabbing her in the back. She wished that she could turn back time and undo everything—she knew that she could have forgiven her if she'd just been patient and not let her anger get the best of her.

She was bawling now, not even trying to wipe away the tears. She was so, so stupid. Her brothers always told her that she didn't think, and they were right.

There was a soft knock at the door and she sat up and wiped her face and nose with her sheets. The door opened before she could say anything. It was Ahzrukhal. Her stomach dropped and she felt sick.

"Were you crying, Franny?" he asked, stepping into her room and shutting the door.

"No," she said, trying not to sniffle. "I'm fine."

"Smoothskins are the worst at lying," he said as he sat down on her bed. She noticed now that he had a bottle of liquor and two glasses. "Your faces are too intact." He chuckled at his own joke and set the glasses down on the dinky nightstand next to her bed. "I brought you a drink."

"Thanks," she said quietly, watching as he poured whiskey into both glasses. She took the one he offered to her and sipped a little.

"This is a peace offering, Franny," he continued, taking a sip from his own glass. "Let's put all this…" he waved his hand, "nonsense behind us."

It was the closest she'd ever heard Ahzrukhal come to an apology. "Okay," she said, her voice almost a whisper. She was too tired to over-analyze what he was saying. If it was a trick, she didn't care.

"You must be tired," he said, his gravelly voice growing softer. "Let's go back to how things were. You have a good time here, don't you?"

"Have you been drinking?" she asked, deciding to ignore his question.

"You know me too well, Franny, but I haven't been drinking for long. It's been a stressful day, hasn't it?" She nodded and took a few more careful sips of whiskey before setting her glass down. She wasn't sure what he wanted and she didn't know how much he'd really been drinking.

"Are you tired, Ahzrukhal?" she asked, moving on her bed a little to give him room. He chuckled and pulled her back towards himself. He held her close and sighed into her neck.

"Very tired."

She leaned him back onto the bed, knowing him well enough to guess that he would only want to sleep tonight. Sometimes men just needed someone to sleep beside them, and Ahzrukhal wasn't any different. Especially when he was drinking.

"You know me too well, Franny," he mumbled.

"Yeah, I know," she replied, patting his back gently. She stayed with him until he fell asleep.

* * *

The next few weeks proved to be uneventful. Fran continued to serve drinks and her schedule at night became as busy as it had been before Betty's arrival. Ahzrukhal never brought up Betty again, and besides Charon's occasional searches, everything was as it had been before.

Everything went back to normal, until one day, a lone wanderer wandered right into that bar.

* * *

**A/N:**

Ahhhh okay guys. I had a really hard time writing this chapter. I wrote it and re-wrote it so I hope that you enjoyed it! I'm starting to really flesh out this (very flawed) character and I think she'd going to turn into something awesome? We'll see. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for the awesome reviews I've been getting. They really are so encouraging and I hope to get more! (wink wink!) :)

Well, now the story is really going to pick up, because now we've got the Lone Wanderer. I've only written up to this point, guys, so—what do you want to see happen? I've got tons of ideas and I can't wait to get to them!

Is there any particular fate you want our little OC to meet? Please review and tell me what you think!

Thank you for reading!

-Deena


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Fran noticed her the moment she walked in. Half of what caught her attention was the fact that it had been a long time since she'd seen another smoothskin; the other half was the way she looked.

She wore leather armor and carried a big gun. She had straight blonde hair tied up in a ponytail and dirt on her face, and she looked like she'd braved the wasteland all by herself… and made it. The girl's eyes scanned the room until she spotted Fran, who could tell that she was surprised to see another smoothskin Underworld. She began to walk to the bar.

Fran meant to ask if she wanted a drink, but instead, she blurted, "Have you been out in the Wasteland _all by yourself?_" The girl laughed and Fran flushed. "Sorry, it's just that… I don't know. What do you want to drink?"

"No, don't worry about it," she said with a big smile. "I've been out there all by myself, yes. And I'd like a beer, please." She threw some caps onto the bar and Fran collected them before serving her.

"Sorry, it's just that I can't imagine being out there myself," she said as she handed her a bottle. "I'm Fran."

"Terra," the lone wanderer replied. "I didn't expect to see someone who wasn't a ghoul in here. You work here?"

"Yeah. I work for Ahzrukhal."

"Who's that?"

"Why, that would be me," a gravelly voice interrupted. They both turned to look at Ahzrukhal. "Well now, lookee here," he said, looking the new patron up and down. "We got us a smoothskin that I ain't ever seen before. I'm Ahzrukhal, and this… this is the Ninth Circle." He gave Fran a look. "Don't you have some work to do?"

She nodded and turned to serve another customer, listening as best she could to Ahzrukhal's conversation with the newcomer.

"What's your name, smoothskin?"

"Terra," was the reply.

"Well, Terra, folks got problems, and I got liquor to sell 'em… well, liquor and a few other pick-me-ups. You need anything, you just let me know."

She tuned out when they started talking about Charon. It was clear that she wasn't going to get another chance to talk to the newcomer again today. She hadn't realized how long it had been since she'd seen another human.

And something about this girl, Terra, was different. She was tough. She'd braved the Wasteland and come out just fine. Was it possible that she could do the same?

Fran tried to shove that thought away. She'd already resolved to be satisfied with working at The Ninth Circle for however long it took to pay off her contract, which she suspected would be forever, or at least until she was old and all dried up. It was just safer that way. Maybe one girl had survived on her own, but Fran knew herself. She wasn't very strong and she wasn't very smart, and the only time she'd ever killed a person had shaken her up so bad that she could barely even look at a knife.

No, she wasn't cut out for the Wasteland.

* * *

That night before closing, Terra was back. Luckily, Ahzrukhal wasn't around, so Fran was able to interrogate the new girl a little more.

"So how long are you planning on staying in Underworld?"

"I don't know yet. I don't like to stay in one place for too long, though," Terra replied, nursing her beer. Fran had given her a discount, even though she knew it wouldn't make her boss happy.

"Where are you from?"

"I grew up in a vault. Kind of close to Megaton, do you know where that is?"

Fran shook her head. "I'm not from this part of the wasteland, and I never leave The Ninth Circle," she said with a frown. "So you came out of a vault, with no experience, and you just survived?"

Terra laughed, "Well, I had to learn quick. It's not that big of a deal. You learn how to survive or you die." She drank the last of her beer and set it down on the bar. "I'm going to turn in, but it was nice to talk to you again," she said.

"Good night," Fran replied, taking the tip she'd left and placing it in her pocket to give to Ahzrukhal later.

It was only a few moments after she left that Charon walked to the bar. Fran poured him his usual glass of water before he sat down.

"You're not planning on keeping those caps, are you, smoothskin?" Fran snorted.

"No, I'm just keepin' them in my pocket for now. Where else am I supposed to put them?"

Rather than reply, he just took a sip of water.

"Charon," she said, absently wiping out glasses. "She says she came out of a vault without having any experience in the Wasteland. How d'you think she did that?"

He gave her a disinterested shrug, but she hadn't expected him to reply anyway.

She went on. "The vault ain't a rough place, not like Freeside. But she still…" Fran sighed. "It can't just be luck. You'd think it'd be harder to survive for someone out of a vault. You've been out to the Wasteland, right? Is it too bad?"

He looked at her like she'd just asked the dumbest question in the world.

"I mean I know it's bad! But if someone like that…" She just stopped talking and frowned, feeling stupid.

"I wouldn't try to go out there if I were you," Charon finally said. "Not alone, anyway."

"I wouldn't, anyway," she replied. "I wasn't even thinking about it." But she was. What if she could survive on her own? Her original plan had been to pay someone to help her back to the Mojave, but what if she'd been wrong all along? What if she could just slip out one night, strike out on her own…?

She shook her head and focused on wiping out the glasses. There was no way, and the idea was stupid anyway. She needed to stop thinking about escaping, because it would never happen.

* * *

She was sitting on her bed when there was a knock on the door. She opened it and there stood Ahzrukhal.

"I need to talk to you," he said.

"Sure, what is it?" He came in and she shut the door after him.

"Your nights have been a little slow, Franny. What are you doing?"

He was right; she hadn't been having very many customers for the last few weeks. When Betty had… left, she'd expected to have much more business, but it was just the opposite. She'd had fewer and fewer ghouls ask for time with her, until she didn't even have one customer on some nights.

"I'm not doing anything different," she said, suddenly feeling nervous. Was she in trouble? She couldn't control whether someone wanted to visit her in the night or not—all anyone seemed to want from her lately were drinks and chems.

"Perhaps the novelty of having a smoothskin here has worn off," he said with a frown. "I'm not making as much money as I was. And I'm not sure about hiring someone else with you around, what with what happened last time."

She felt her knees go weak at that statement. Ahzrukhal still suspected her, and although she knew that he was only saying it to get a reaction, she suddenly felt sick. What was he planning to do?

"I have a friend in Megaton who has an aging whore on his hands," he said distractedly. "Maybe he'd be interested in someone younger."

"You're selling my contract?" she asked, her eyes wide, her sick feeling turning into full-on nausea. "But I… I don't want to leave Underworld, I don't know anyone in Megaton…" If he sold her contract, then there was no chance that she'd be able to pay it off.

He frowned. "I'm a business man, Franny," he replied. "Of course you'll be missed. But I think it may be time to… make some staff changes. Oh, don't worry, Megaton is a decent place."

"A-Ahzrukhal!" she said before he opened the door to leave. "I could do more, you don't have to replace me! I could try harder, or start dressing different—"

"It's already been decided, Franny. Don't worry about it. Tomorrow there will be some gentlemen to escort you there." His tone wasn't spiteful or malicious. He spoke to her as if he were just making another business deal. And she supposed that he was.

He walked out the door and she sat back down on her bed. She stared at the floor, trying to wrap her head around what had just happened. It made sense, she guessed. She hadn't been making money like she used to, and Ahzrukhal was all about the money. But she hadn't been a slave long enough to get used to being sold like cattle.

She wandered to her dresser and scooped out all of the things she could safely call her own. One pre-war magazine that taught how to put on make-up (she'd leave that because she didn't have make-up anyway) and a few old dresses—and the one she had taken from Betty's room the night she'd killed her.

She had planned to never look at it again, but now… she packed it into a sheet with the rest of her clothes. She'd keep the dress to remember Betty.

She thought of all the things she'd had at home. Her two brothers always made sure she had things like clothes and food. Back then, she hadn't appreciated it, but now all she wished for were those very things. She shut her eyes and tried to remember their faces. She could only remember black hair and jailhouse rockers. Did they miss her? Did they remember her? Or did they think that she was still in New Vegas, ignoring them?

She hoped more than anything that they knew that she remembered them.

* * *

She was up early the next morning. She'd wrapped her sheet around her clothes and twisted it so that it made a sling around her shoulders. She didn't have good shoes, but she'd put on her most durable ones anyway, ready to make the walk to Megaton. Ahzrukhal had already been by to tell her goodbye and to direct her to the bar.

There were two rough-looking smoothskins waiting there to leave, and she wondered where Ahzrukhal found people like that.

"You ready to leave?" one of them asked after taking a swig of whiskey.

"Sure," she replied, looking around the bar for Charon. He was sitting in the corner as usual, watching the exchange silently. She gave him a small smile and a wave. If it was the last time she'd ever see him, she figured it wouldn't hurt to at least wave goodbye. He didn't wave back, but it didn't bother her.

"Let's get outta this dump," the other guy said. "I don't like bein' around all these ghouls."

"Wait!" a voice called out. "Fran, are you leaving?" She turned to see Terra the Vault Dweller.

"Yeah," Fran replied.

"We gotta get going," one of the men said gruffly.

"Just wait a damn second, will ya?" Terra snapped.

"You have two seconds to say your goodbyes and then we're leaving," he growled.

"I'll take however long I want," she said nastily, and he ducked his head. She turned back to Fran. "Where are you going?"

"Megaton. Guess I'm gonna work for a guy with an old whore," she replied. "I'm not making enough for Ahzrukhal."

"A guy with an old whore? Do you mean Moriarty?" Terra asked, frowning. "Nova isn't that old."

Fran shrugged. "I guess we don't have that long of a shelf life."

Terra sighed. "Well, I have a house in Megaton. I'll probably see you there."

"You live in Megaton?" Fran asked, feeling a little better. So she _would_ know someone.

"Sort of. It's more like a home base," the vaultie said. "Listen. I just wanted to ask you something really quick."

"Sure."

"You know Charon? Is he… trustworthy?"

Fran nearly laughed. "Charon? It depends, I guess. Why?"

"I'm thinking about buying his contract."

Fran raised her eyebrows. So _that's_ what Ahzrukhal had meant when he was talking about 'making staff changes'. He was selling both of their contracts. "Charon…" Her eyes wandered to the ghoul in the corner. "Charon is a good person," she decided out loud. "And he hates it here, everyone says so. If I was gonna go out into the Wasteland, I'd want him with me."

Terra smiled. "Thanks. I think my decision is made. Good luck in Megaton, Fran. It's not such a bad place. Tell Gob and Nova I say hi."

"I will," she said. "Be nice to Charon." Terra gave her a grin.

"Don't worry about that. I think sometimes that I might be _too_ nice."

"Good," she replied, returning her smile. "See you."

Fran left with the two rough men. They were too far away from The Ninth Circle to hear what happened next.

* * *

**A/N:**

Ha! Okay, we're taking this show to Megaton! And yes, Charon totally kills Ahzrukhal, in case anyone was wondering. But Fran doesn't know it (yet).

I want to thank **River Nightrunner** for giving me some great suggestions, and helping me figure out new ideas.

What do you guys think of this little experiment so far? I hope hope hope you like it. I got big plans, guys, _big plans_. As I've said before, I love reading your comments and ideas! I really like validation. Just sayin'.

By the way, you may have noticed that I changed the character filler. Um, I think you guys probably know why. I know it started out totally different, but that's just where this story has started to go. I was starting to kind of think that it wouldn't go much further the way it was going. I hope that's okay with all of you!

-Deena


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

When she had been kidnapped from Freeside, she'd spent most of the trip to Underworld tied up and blindfolded. She hadn't even walked; she'd been slung onto the back of a Brahmin. Sure, she'd heard some gunshots and fighting along the way, but she really hadn't been prepared for travelling through the wastes for real.

When one of the men she was travelling with gave her a crappy little pistol, she was confused. Weren't they afraid that she'd kill them in their sleep or something?

"Don't try anything cute," he said. "You're not surviving out here without us."

And he was right. The whole trip had been filled with close calls and scrapes with death, Super Mutants and feral ghouls. Fran was surprised and wary when she realized that raiders almost never gave them any trouble.

The Wasteland was just as bad, if not worse, than she thought it would be. Sure, she'd wandered out from Freeside growing up, but she'd never gone past the NCR camps that surrounded the city. She could swear that there wasn't nearly as much trash lying around in the Mojave, but she supposed that it _had_ been a dessert even before the bombs dropped.

Megaton from far away was ugly. Really ugly. It looked like a big pile of scrap medal. Freeside was no prize, but at least they had buildings.

"Here we are," a gruff voice, Randy, said. "Bet you're glad you get to be in a town with real people, huh?" Fran ignored the comment.

"It looks disgusting," she said. Both men laughed loudly.

"It ain't too pretty," Jerry said. "But it's got big ol' walls and it's pretty safe. More than you can say for a lot of towns."

Fran took a page from Charon's book and didn't reply. They continued their walk and it didn't take long before they reached the city.

* * *

Gob was doing the usual; wiping down the bar, serving drinks. The radio was on the fritz again. The day was just generally frustrating, like most other days. But lately, it had been a little depressing in the bar.

Nova had begun sulking (he knew that she would, no matter how much she said she wasn't jealous that Moriarty was hiring someone younger) and Moriarty had been anxious that the new girl would die on the way from Underworld. It was a valid concern, he guessed, but he still didn't like the fact that it meant that Moriarty would snap at him over every little thing. Well, more than usual.

Gob smacked the radio and sighed. It was no use.

The door opened and a gush of wind carried some dirt into the bar. Jericho swore and shoved the door shut. "Fuckin' windy outside," he muttered before taking a seat at the bar. "You know what I want, Gob. Hurry up." He threw some caps onto the bar and Gob served him the usual.

The door opened again and Jericho yelled. "Shut the damn door!" Three people came in; two of them were tall, dirty men, and the third was a girl who couldn't be older than twenty.

"Where's Moriarty?" one of them said as he pushed the door closed against the wind. "We gotta delivery here."

The man in question came in from the back. "From Ahzrukhal, eh?" he asked. "Good. It's about time ya got her here."

Gob studied the girl as the men bargained about the delivery price. So this was the new hooker that everyone was worked up about. She wasn't anything special, really—long brown hair, tangled from the wind, brown eyes and dirt on her face. She was bone-thin, like just about everyone else in the Wastes. She looked around the bar, probably memorizing the place where she'd live for a pretty good portion of her life, until her eyes met his.

He looked away quickly and stared at the bar. He took a towel and began wiping glasses, not wanting her to think that he had nothing better to do than stare. She'd probably think he was a freak, anyway, no matter what he did, but there could at least be a few minutes before she formed that opinion.

"Gob!" Moriarty barked. Gob looked up. The men were already gone, a testament to how long he had been spacing out.

"Yeah?"

"Take the girl up to one of the rentable rooms," he ordered, throwing a key at him. Gob scrambled to catch it. "Don't touch her, ya hear? She ain't a ghoul type anymore." Moriarty laughed as is he'd told a funny joke and headed into the back room.

Gob sighed and looked at the girl. "C'mon."

She adjusted her make-shift knapsack and followed him up the stairs into one of the rented rooms. Gob unlocked the door, opened it, and handed her the key. "Just so you know, he's gonna charge you rent, too."

She scoffed. "Don't matter." She shifted her sack off of her shoulders and threw it near the bed. She walked back to him and held out her hand. "I'm Fran."

He stared at her hand for a moment before taking it. "Gob."

"Thanks for showing me where my room was."

"Yeah, no problem," he said, still surprised that she'd shake his hand. Well, she had spent a lot of time in Underworld, so she would be used to touching ghouls, but still… he wasn't used to the contact. "Hey, uh, Fran. I got a question. You were in Underworld, right?"

"Yeah?"

"I was just wondering… did you ever see Carol?"

"Carol? I never saw her. I never really left The Ninth Circle. But Ahzrukhal sure hated her. She's his competition. Drove him crazy," she said with a shrug. "I'm sorry. But do you know Terra? She told me to say hi."

"Terra?" One of his favorite smoothskins! "She was in Underworld?"

"Yeah, buying Charon's contract," she replied, brushing her dirty hair out of her face. "I guess me and him both got canned." Gob was surprised. She'd bought _Charon's_ contract? Of all the people she could be hanging around with, it had to be him.

Fran cleared her throat and his stupor was broken. "I guess I'm gonna…" she gestured toward her bed. "I'm tired. Is there any water?"

"Some dirty water from the sink," he said. "I guess I'll see you downstairs."

"See you." She shut her door quietly. Gob stood there by the door for a moment, trying to figure out what he thought of her, and then decided that it was too soon to tell. In the meantime, he had to get that radio working.

* * *

Fran fell into a routine pretty quickly. She just went through the motions: woke up, went to the bar, flirted with customers. She did her best to stay out of Nova's way, and she rarely spoke to Gob. She'd thought she was miserable at The Ninth Circle, but Moriarty's Saloon was worse.

Nova rarely acknowledged her, which was okay, except that she genuinely admired her. She had been under the impression that Nova would be old and ugly, but she wasn't at all. She was confident and feminine, two things that Fran had thought herself to be a long time ago.

And then there was Gob, who seemed too shy (or afraid of Moriarty) to talk to her. She liked to see him because he reminded her of Underworld, a place that she was surprised to miss. Gob and Nova talked to each other, and it was clear that they'd known each other for a while, but neither of them said much to her. She was lonely.

However, the worst part of her new job was her boss. She'd thought that Ahzrukhal was bad, but that was before she'd met Moriarty. He would make rude jokes and bully all of the people who worked for him. She and Nova didn't have it too bad, but Gob… he got it the worst. He got smacked around and cursed at everyday by everyone, but the worst of it came from Moriarty.

She wasn't sure why it bothered her—maybe it was because after spending almost a year in Underworld she'd developed a soft spot in her heart for ghouls; maybe it was because she had been the strange one there, and she hadn't been mistreated the way that Gob was.

She hated Moriarty so much that she almost missed Ahzrukhal. At least she could stomach it when he crawled into her bed at nights. Luckily, Moriarty seemed more infatuated with Nova, and he generally ignored her unless he was telling her who to see, so she almost never had to deal with that part of his personality.

It was late at night and she was sitting at the bar now, watching Gob wipe down the counters. Nova was upstairs and Moriarty was asleep in his room.

She didn't have anything to do. It was usually slow here in Megaton, and the only time she had any real work was when the caravans came in and out of town every few days. Today was not one of those days. There were always a few regulars, but even they were taking a break today.

"D'you need any help, Gob?" she asked, eyeing an extra rag.

"No, thanks, kid. Don't worry about it."

"I can just wipe down some tables or something." He smiled at her.

"You're really bored, aren't you?"

She smiled and picked up the extra rag. "Just let me clean out some glasses."

"Sure, just don't let Moriarty see ya." She picked up some glasses and wiped them down slowly, so she wouldn't be done too fast.

"Do you ever miss Underworld?" she asked. He watched her for a moment. She looked a lot better now than she had when she'd arrived. Then she'd been covered in dirt and had the look of someone who'd spent a few weeks on the Wasteland.

Now she was clean, as much as anyone could be. Her hair was no longer tangled, just pinned in a loose bun at the base of her neck. Her face wasn't covered in dirt, so he could see small freckles that had formed on her cheeks from the sun. Her eyelashes were long and her eyes were dark, almost black in the low light of the bar.

"Did you hear me?"

"Uh, yeah," Gob said, sure that if he could blush, he'd be beet red. "Yeah, I miss it there. I mostly miss my mom."

"Carol, right?" she asked. He nodded. "I miss Underworld 'cause this place is a dump." He laughed and she felt herself smile.

"Underworld ain't that great either."

"No where's great after you've been to New Vegas," she said. His eyebrows rose.

"New Vegas, huh? That where you're from?"

"No, I'm from Freeside," she said quietly, still wiping the same glass. "Just outside of Vegas. Well, how about you? Why did you leave Underworld?"

"Thought I'd go out and find some adventures. Found some slavers instead," he said, thinking of his ill-fated excursion from Underworld. "How about you? You leave Freeside looking for fame and fortune?"

She shrugged. "I guess. But I got captured 'cause some lady had a debt and I looked like her. Bad luck, I guess."

"That's rotten luck. I'm sorry," he said. She just shrugged and picked up another glass to wipe down. The first one wasn't getting any cleaner.

"It's alright." She was sad now, thinking about Freeside. "I think I'm gonna call it a night. Are you gonna get any sleep?"

Gob shrugged. "Whenever I get the bar clean."

"I'll help you finish before I go to bed," she said, getting serious about wiping out the glasses now.

"No, don't worry about it," he said quickly, reaching out and stopping her hands. She looked up at him and he felt his stomach flip. They were so close, and he had to admit that she was a good-looking smoothskin. Even prettier than Nova (although he wouldn't utter that anywhere near her). He could have sworn that he saw her face flush, but it was probably just in his head.

"Sure, whatever you say," she surrendered the glass and the rag and wiped her damp hands on her casual dress. "G'night, then."

"Night," he said as she climbed the stairs to her room.

* * *

She shut the door to her room and she lay down without changing her clothes. She closed her eyes and wrapped a sheet around herself, feeling chilly. She wondered if she should have insisted on helping Gob, since it was the first time she'd ever had a real discussion with him, but she supposed that the conversation had run its course. She'd started talking about Freeside and had felt that homesickness once again.

She was thinking about home more than ever lately. She thought all the time about her brothers, Johnny and Jimmy, and the Kings—she even missed the stupid _Kings_. She didn't even miss New Vegas anymore; all she wanted was to go home, to Freeside, find the little hovel they lived in, and crawl into her old bedroll. She wanted to see her brothers and tell them that their hairdos weren't so bad.

She just wanted to say sorry. Sorry for going to Vegas and forgetting about them and just acting like an all-around bitch. She hit her thin pillow, feeling angry at herself. She almost felt like she deserved every second of what happened to her.

She hit the pillow one more time, feeling useless, and suddenly too tired to feel mad anymore. It was futile to feel anyway about anything anymore. Things could have been worse, she knew this. She'd heard a little about Paradise Falls, and she'd been lucky to avoid a slave collar. She almost laughed at the thought—her standards for what was lucky were really low now.

She turned over. Maybe there were better things to come. If she could have a pleasant conversation with Gob, maybe she could even talk a little to Nova. Maybe she could make friends with both of them and her misery would be a little less.

Gob. She wished that there was a way for him to go back to Underworld. He was too nice to be working for a pig like Moriarty. So was Nova, for that matter. Even Fran herself, with all of her flaws, was too nice to be working for that man.

She yawned and felt sleep pulling at her. She gave in and shut her eyes.

* * *

The next day, the door blew open, and there stood Terra, the Last, Best Hope for Humanity, and Charon, her trusty sidekick. _She really makes an entrance_, Fran thought as Terra whipped off a helmet and shook her hair out.

She scoffed when Charon mumbled that he didn't like the look of the place.

"Gob! Nova! Fran!" she said, naming each as she saw them. "Hey, you made it to Megaton in one piece," she said with a smile. "Hey Gob, wanna get me a Nuka-Cola? How's everyone doing?"

"Good as it gets," Gob said, eyeing Charon. So it was true, Terra _had_ bought his contract. He hoped she knew what she was doing. Charon eyed Gob right back, as if daring him to say something.

"How're you doing?" Fran asked, feeling a weird sort of tension. Did Gob not like Charon? It wouldn't be too strange, she guessed, since Charon wasn't the friendliest ghoul out there.

"We're doing great," Terra said after taking a swig of Nuka-Cola. "We've made excellent time. Charon is great. Here, Gob, Carol gave me a letter to give to you." Gob took the letter eagerly and stuck it in his pocket.

"Thanks, kid. I really appreciate it," he said with a grin, seeming to forget about Charon for a moment.

Terra turned to Fran with a smile that just wouldn't go away. "Oh, also, since you're here, I got some news for you."

"News for me?" Fran scoffed. "Sure. What is it?"

"Well, I think you'll be glad to know that Ahzrukhal is dead."

Her eyes went wide. "Ahzrukhal… died?" She found a stool by the bar and sat down.

"Oh my God. Is that bad news to you? I'm so sorry—"

"No, it's _not_ bad news," Fran said quickly, cutting the other girl off. "It's just… what happened?" Terra pointed to Charon, who grunted.

"_You_ killed him?"

"My contract with him was through," he replied.

She wanted to tell him that it could have been through had he just killed him before, but she'd heard all about the contract too many times to have that fight. Instead of saying anything about it, she smiled.

"I guess that's something worth toasting, right?" she asked.

"It sure is! Let me buy you guys some Nukas and we'll celebrate. What do you say?" Terra asked. Gob and Fran looked at each other.

"Moriarty won't like it," Gob said. Terra shook her head.

"Screw him. You know what, I'll come back later. He's smoking outside right now but he'll come in a minute." The lone wanderer stood up. "I'm going back to my house, but I'll see you guys later. Rain check on the drinks?"

"We'll count on it, smoothskin," Gob said.

"See ya," Fran said with a wave. "Good to see you again, Charon."

Charon just nodded and followed Terra out the door. She turned around to face the bar and lean her head down, still not able to wrap her mind around Ahzrukhal being dead.

"You okay?" Gob asked, looking concerned. She lifted her head to say something but Moriarty walked into the bar at just the wrong time.

"What're you two doin', sittin' around?" he asked. "Botha you are worthless. C'mon, get up, get back ta work! Where's Nova?"

"It's her day off," Fran replied, standing up from the bar stool and straightening her dress. Gob started wiping down the bar, but he kept his eyes on her.

"Well it ain't _yer_ day off, is it? So get back to work." Not for the first time, she wished that she could punch him in the mouth.

"You're right, I'm sorry," she said.

"Just get ta work." She nodded and left to visit with the customers, ignoring Gob's looks.

* * *

That night was similar to the last: slow.

Gob gestured to her from across the room so she took a seat next to Nova at the bar. Gob gave her a water. The older woman sighed and took a sip from a glass of whiskey. "It's slow when the caravans leave," she mumbled, sounding almost disappointed. "But I think that Jericho might come along pretty soon.

"He comes around for you a lot," Fran said with a smile, hoping to start a conversation. Nova let out a short laugh.

"Everyone does. But you're right," she sighed.

"He's in love with her," Gob teased. Nova reached over the bar and gave his arm a light smack.

"That filthy beast doesn't know what love is," she said.

"He doesn't even know what a shower is," Gob replied.

"Says you!"

"Hey, even I smell better than that guy." He looked at the dark-haired girl to see if he could catch a smile. Nova saw his glances at her and grinned.

"So, Fran," she said. "What's your type?"

"Of guy?" she asked, almost laughing. "I don't have one. They're all pigs." This earned loud laughter from Nova and a morose look from Gob.

"Wouldn't say that," he said quietly, looking at Nova, who he suspected was a little tipsy.

"I used to date those Vegas types, you'd like 'em, Nova," Fran said with a laugh. She looked at Gob and smiled. "Not _all_ guys are pigs." He smiled back.

"Oh, there's Jericho," Nova said as the door to the saloon opened. Sure enough, it was the old raider.

"I only got an hour, so get upstairs," he said gruffly, and Nova rolled her eyes.

"A gentleman, as always," she quipped, jumping up from the stool and starting up the stairs. "Have a good night!"

Gob and Fran watched them make their way up the stairs and looked at each other when the door slammed shut.

"Looks like I don't have any work to do tonight," she said after a moment, staring distractedly at the wall.

"Lucky you," Gob replied, pouring himself some dirty water. It was almost midnight, and Moriarty wasn't around to tell him not to, so he took a seat to relax for a few minutes before he started closing up. "Hey, smoothskin," he said gently.

"Yeah?"

"You doin' okay?" She thought for a moment, and then remembered earlier that day. She'd been trying not to think about Ahzrukhal, because it bothered her that she wasn't happy about his death.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I'm fine. Thanks."

"Carol's gonna get more business," he said. That was something he was happy for. He had to remember to read her letter before he went to bed.

"That'd drive him crazy," she replied with a small smile. He looked at her face—she looked almost sad. "I hated Ahzrukhal, so I guess it's good that he died." She said it more like she needed to convince herself than anyone else.

"You hated him?" She looked like she was in deep thought.

"I did. He was a real bad cat, you know what I'm saying? But that isn't what I've been thinking about."

"Then what?"

"I was thinking… The day I left for Megaton was the day that Terra bought Charon's contract. Knowing Charon, he would 'a killed Ahzrukhal the moment he was free. That means that if I'd gotten to wait just a few minutes, I might've been free."

Gob let out a low whistle. "You got bad luck, kid."

"I think I figured that out," she said with a short laugh. "Well, I'd better get to bed. Caravan's coming in tomorrow, I think. We'll be busy. Ya want help closing the bar?"

"Nah, I've got it," he said. "Good night."

"Good night, Gob."

He watched her walk up the stairs and realized: this smoothskin wasn't so bad.

* * *

**A/N:**

Okay, wow! Long chapter! At least for me. My brain is fried. Please review and tell me how awesome I am.

Ha, no, really, review though. :) I want to know what you think! As always, I ask you: is there something you'd like to see happen in this fic? Please let me know!

Also, I'm feeling like I'm not doing a super job at writing for Gob. Does anyone have any advice?


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